


The Word of Your Body

by lookninjas



Series: Children's Work [27]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 07:42:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18890206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: There is a really terrible billboard that Poe saw once that said something likeThe Most Powerful Position is On Your Knees.  It's true, though, when it's Ben.  When it's Ben it's definitely true.(Or -- Poe has a Pavlovian reaction to Ben kneeling.  Ben has a Pavlovian reaction to the outline of Poe's dick in a pair of sweatpants.  It works out well for everyone.)





	The Word of Your Body

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](https://lookninjas.tumblr.com/post/184462851291/its-a-scorcher) and my eternal fondness for the idea of Adam Driver kneeling. It's clearly a very inspirational subject.

Ben usually doesn’t need or want much attention. That’s very true. It’s also true that when he _does_ want attention, he’s basically a master at getting it. Especially if the attention he wants is Poe’s.

Even so, kneeling next to Poe’s chair and looking up at him with puppy eyes is maybe a little bit extreme. It’s a little… A little something else, too. But mostly just kind of melodramatic. 

“Really?” Poe asks, looking down at him.

Ben bites down on his lower lip. Poe tries not to squirm in his chair. It has, he concedes, maybe been a bit of a dry spell for the two of them. What with Poe’s caseload, and then trying to cram in all the immigration law he could in his spare time. And then the twenty-year anniversary of the raid on the First Order coming up, so Ben’s had all those interviews, and then it’s coming up on Pride too and that’s always busy for him. And then they had a couple of nights last week which could have been amazing but someone smashed one of the windows at the restaurant, _again_ , so that kind of killed the mood and --

But it’s still a little weird, is the thing.

And okay, maybe Ben’s looking more worried than horny right now, and Poe needs to calm his dick down because something’s up and it’s not supposed to be his penis.

He turns his chair a little bit from the table, awkward, and Ben shifts to make room for him, still kneeling at Poe’s feet, one hand on his ankle. _Not now, boner._ “Ben?” he asks.

“Okay, so you know how when I have to write a speech and I get stuck on something, I read the last sentence aloud? To sort of… I don’t know, jog me out of it?”

Poe knows. He knows really, really well.

“Babe,” Ben continues, and his hand moves up to Poe’s knee. _Not. Now. Boner._ “You’ve been stuck in the same place for the last twenty minutes.”

That is a little bit of cold water. Not a lot, not with Ben still kneeling there, but. A little bit. “I -- Wait, really?” He looks back over his shoulder at the computer, checking the time. _8:37_. Which would mean more if he remembered when he started. Sometime after dinner? They eat early, usually, more on Ben’s schedule than his. 6:30? Ish? And then Ben cleared the table and started the dishes, and Poe brought out his laptop and notes to work on the speech, and that was… Maybe an hour ago, maybe an hour-fifteen, hour and a half at max, but -- 

But he’s been busy. Things blur. He couldn’t say, exactly, when he started writing today. He couldn’t say, exactly, how long he’s been stuck. He can see how many words are on the screen. It doesn’t look like many. Everything else is just kind of --

“Babe,” Ben says again. Both hands on his knees now. Rises up a little bit. Some of Poe rises with him. His libido is way too predictable sometimes. “Look, I know it’s hard --”

Oh God.

“-- but if you’re that stuck, sometimes it’s better to just put it on the back burner for now, and we’ll find something else to do, take your mind off it. There’s that street food documentary on Netflix we haven’t finished, or --”

Poe can’t really say he’s interested in a street food documentary on Netflix right now. On the other hand, a little time to catch his breath, get settled, and then he can put the moves on his husband in a more casual, ordinary fashion, and not like _you knelt down and I started drooling like Pavlov’s dog_. 

Even if that’s the truth. 

“No, yeah, we could. Yeah, absolutely. That sounds great. That --” was not at all suspicious, and Poe clamps his mouth shut even as Ben’s eyebrows draw together.

“Poe, are you --” And then Ben’s gaze finally drops down, and maybe this wasn’t Poe’s best night to wear grey sweatpants. Or, by the way Ben’s lips part slow, maybe it was. “Really,” Ben says, lower now. 

It’s funny how being caught exponentially lowers Poe’s shame in the reaction in the first place. “I mean,” he says, and gestures at Ben. Kneeling at his feet. Big hands spreading out over Poe’s thighs. Shoulders broad under his t-shirt and damp dark hair hanging in his eyes and lips parted and lashes and just the whole terrific package of him. “And it’s -- It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, it has,” Ben murmurs, still staring at Poe’s dick. Then he looks up, meets Poe’s eyes, electric. Pushes himself up with Poe’s legs as balance, moves in, straddles Poe’s thighs so that it’s Poe’s turn to look up. He leans in. The collar of Ben’s shirt is suddenly in biting range, so that’s what Poe does, because why the fuck not, and then he hears it. One finger resting on the _ctrl_ key. One firmly striking the letter _s_. It happens again, because Ben always saves twice because he’s like that as a person, and then the laptop closes.

Ben pulls back a little, grinning. 

“You saved my document for me,” Poe says. Feels a sudden warmth, from toes to scalp. “Ben,” he says, and reaches up to cup Ben’s chin in his hands, pull him back down. “I fucking love you.”

“I --” 

Poe doesn’t let him finish -- he knows, anyway. He loves Ben and Ben loves him and he already knows and Ben should damn well have figured that out by now, so Poe just kisses him, hard and dirty and sweet and he has _needed_ this. He’d almost let himself forget how much, preoccupied with what needed him, but he needs _this_ and now that’s he’s started he wouldn’t even know how to stop. He holds Ben in place, fingers tight in his heavy hair, and kisses him and kisses him and Ben’s fingers seize up on the sleeves of Poe’s hoodie as the oversized rest of him just melts into Poe’s lap.

The thing is, he’s every bit as good on Poe’s lap as he is on his knees.

The thing is, it doesn’t really matter where he is, or who’s on top of whom when Poe finally pulls back and Ben blinks at him in that particularly dazed way. (There is, Poe concedes, maybe a bit of an ego thing in the way they come together, in the way Ben comes undone so easily at Poe’s touch.) “Oh,” Ben whispers, and Poe’s hands skim down Ben’s neck, his shoulders, his arms. He kisses the uneven line of Ben’s jaw, down to that particular tender spot where the join of it meets his throat. Then further, even, mouthing at his adam’s apple, down to the tendons of his shoulder. Ben grips Poe’s hoodie like he’s holding on for dear life. Which, if Poe’s doing his job right, he should be. “Oh. _Fuck_. Oh, oh fuck, fuck --”

He’s vocal tonight. “Yeah?” Poe asks, grinning against Ben’s skin, and Ben’s hips jerk forward because for whatever reason, he is desperately weak for Poe saying _yeah_ in that tone of voice and Poe knows and he’s not afraid to use it. And the friction is good, so Poe braces his feet and grinds up, biting gently at Ben’s collar bone and Ben presses down, still panting, _oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck_ and Poe almost doesn’t hear how the chair is creaking.

Almost.

He pulls away from Ben’s skin, reluctant. “Babe,” he says, and gets a groan in return. “Babe. Come on, we should take this to the bedroom. Chair’s about to go.”

Ben does not let go of Poe’s hoodie. “Table’s pretty sturdy,” he points out and _oh_. That’s a thought. A very, very good thought, consisting mainly of Ben splayed out, arms flung wide, sweat glistening on his chest and his chest heaving, head tipped back, legs wrapped around Poe’s waist and --

Logistics, though. “Lube still in the bedroom?” he asks, and Ben groans again.

“Yeah, fuck, yeah.” His fingers finally loosen; he smooths Poe’s hoodie with shaky hands. “No, you’re right, let’s --”

“Tell you what,” Poe says, and pulls Ben down for a quick kiss that turns a little longer, a little dirtier, and the chair creaks again. Honestly, it’s probably just creaky anyway. It probably can hold the two of them. Probably. “I’ll go get the lube, while you put my laptop somewhere we can’t kill it. Then we’ll see how well the table holds.”

Which is pretty well, if Poe remembers correctly, but he’s feeling inspired tonight. Ben must be, too, because he’s grinning as he kisses Poe. “God,” he says, soft. “You know, I love the way you think.”

“Table was your idea,” Poe reminds him, because fair’s fair. “I’m just working out the details. C’mon.” He pats Ben on the ass. “Sooner we get this worked out, sooner I can get you pinned back down again.” 

Ben groans, shudders, hips jerking again. “Fuck,” he mutters. Then he pushes back, eases up to his feet, and the flannel pajama pants may not reveal things the same way Poe’s old sweatpants do, but it’s still a pretty damn nice view. Poe’s half tempted to drag Ben back in by the hips.

“So,” he asks, legs spread, hands on his knees. Cocky, the way he knows Ben likes sometimes. “How many times do you think we can go tonight?”

Ben snorts, shakes his head. “Once,” he says, amused and fond and firm all at once. “So make it count.”

It’s a little disappointing. A little. But with the month they’re having, probably also pretty fair. “Don’t I always?” Poe asks, and stands, and hooks his fingers in Ben’s pajama pants and pulls him in, hip to hip. Ben always moves so easily for him. “Do me a favor,” he murmurs, and nips at the collar of Ben’s shirt again. “Leave this on. I want to unwrap you when I get back.”

“Don’t you always?” Ben retorts, but it’s shaky, breathless. Terrific for Poe’s ego. Or terrible, maybe. Or both. But it’s fun, anyway.

He lets his hands slide around to Ben’s ass, giving it a good squeeze, and Ben lets out a little gasp of a laugh. “Damn right I do,” he says, and then pulls away fully, enjoying the way Ben sways after him. “And I will be right back. Right back.” He takes one last look at Ben, already half-debauched even with his pjs still on, and then reluctantly hurries toward the bedroom. 

Lube. A towel from the bathroom, both for messes and to give Ben something a little softer to lay on than their dining room table. He thinks about grabbing a glass of water, for after, but then there’s not really any place to put it that would be safe, with as long as Ben’s arms are and as crazy as Poe is planning on making him. Poe considers his reflection in the mirror for a moment, then yanks the sweatshirt off. It ruffles his hair -- he reaches up and ruffles it a little bit more. Considers his reflection again, then takes his t-shirt off, too. There. That’s better. That’s --

He’s ruffling his hair just that last little bit extra when he hears Ben call out, “Poe, you’re already gorgeous, just get in here.”

And who is he to deny a request like that? 

One or two more pokes at his hair, and he’s heading back through the apartment. 

Ben is sitting on the dining room table when he gets back, legs swinging, crossed at the ankle. He stops as Poe approaches, lips parting again -- shirtless was clearly the best choice for this -- then slides off the table, crossing to meet him. One big hand settles on the towel draped over Poe’s shoulders. “Hmmm.” He bends down, folding until he can graze his lips over Poe’s collarbone, making him shudder. “How big of a mess are we planning on making here?”

“I mean,” Poe says, as Ben kisses his way down Poe’s chest. “If you _want_ to fuck your back up on that cold hard table there, with nothing to cushion you, I guess you can --”

Ben just chuckles, hot against Poe’s skin. His other hand comes up, fumbles for the towel; Poe feels the towel wrap rough against his back and his arms, pull tight, holding him gently in place. “You know I don’t think about things like that,” he mutters, mouthing at Poe’s belly, a little round from dinner. He settles down on his knees, long nose pressed to Poe’s skin, looking up at him with eyes that are equally hot and soft, hungry and tender. “That’s why I have you.”

His teeth settle on the waistband of Poe’s sweatpants, pull it out just a little before letting go, letting it snap back, and Poe groans. 

“Don’t --” 

His hands find his way into Ben’s hair as Ben starts nuzzling Poe’s dick through his sweatpants, pushing in hard with the sharp line of his nose and then grazing his lips over the fabric, mouthing at him, faint heat and damp and pleasure. Poe groans again.

“Babe,” he sighs. “I wanna return the compliment but I can’t think when you do that.”

Ben just tightens his grip on the towel, uses it to pull Poe’s hips even closer. “Then save it for later.” His lips moving, his breath, the pressure, the heat -- _God_. “I’m busy right now.”

And that’s why Poe has such a strong reaction to Ben on his knees. He gives in to it, lets Ben tease him until he’s so hard he hurts, until his knees are shaking and he’s not totally sure he’d be standing up without his hands in Ben’s hair, the towel pressing him relentlessly into Ben’s grip, until a low harsh groan breaks free of his chest and Ben finally eases back, starts working his way slowly up Poe’s body -- hipbones, ribcage, sternum, collarbones -- until they’re kissing again, hot and hard and _God_ , all the things Poe wants to do, all the ways Ben makes him crazy, all the --

“You just took a shower,” he mutters against Ben’s jawline, and Ben tugs at his hips with the towel again, pulling him in almost enough to grind on Ben’s thigh. Almost.

“Yeah, so?” 

“So.” Poe nips at Ben’s earlobe. His fingers trace around the waistband of Ben’s flannel pajamas, feeling the hot skin below. Then further in, one asscheek in each hand, pulling them apart a little, teasing. “So?”

Ben moans, shudders. “ _God_ , yes,” he breathes. Then he’s stepping back out of Poe’s reach, towel slipping away as he moves. Another two long strides and he’s back at the table, draping the towel over it, arranging it just so. Once it’s set, he braces his hands on either side of it, feet apart on the floor, ass out. Ready.

It’s Poe’s turn to fall to his knees, then, and he does it happily, catching the waistband of Ben’s pajamas as he goes down and tugging them over the curve of his ass, down his strong thighs, his knees, his calves. Ben’s ankles are surprisingly delicate and more than a little ticklish -- Poe’s careful not to brush them as Ben steps out of his pants and repositions his feet on the floor. He strokes his way up the back of Ben’s thighs instead, then gets a good grip on his ass and, without teasing or preamble of any kind, buries his face right there in the dark and in the heat.

“God, fuck, God…” Ben groans, hips pushing back even further. “Fuck, Poe, fuck…”

Poe runs the flat of his tongue over Ben’s skin, points it and pushes in just a little, pulls back to swirl around the edges. Presses kisses from tailbone to taint and back up again, nips at Ben’s cheeks and then goes back to tonguing him soft, open, until Ben’s out of profanity entirely and just panting, thighs shaking with strain. Poe could keep going -- he could set in and stay there until Ben comes just from this. It would take a while, but he’s done it before. He could do it again.

But he did promise he’d hold Ben down and fuck him, and he’s a man of his word, so when Ben’s gasping breaths start to turn high-pitched and his thighs tense up, Poe eases back, presses kisses to the base of Ben’s spine, letting him breathe, relax. Ben’s back is flushed pink, sweaty; his ribcage heaves with every breath as he struggles to pull himself together. 

“God…” Ben breathes, dark hair hanging in his face. “God.”

Poe thinks of a blasphemous joke. Doesn’t make it. He pats at Ben’s ass one last time before pulling away to get his own sweatpants off, grabbing the lube out of the pocket as he does so. As much as he loves working Ben up, and God knows how much he loves working Ben up, he’s so ready to move on. “Okay,” he says, and runs his hand up Ben’s thigh, both to remind him that he’s there and also to trace the way the shiver moves through his body, from the place where Poe’s hand makes contact to the ends of his heavy hair. “You need to lay down yet?”

“Fuck,” Ben breathes, into the table, and then, “Yeah, probably, I -- Yeah.” He pushes himself up with shaky hands, t-shirt falling back down over his hips. Poe slides his hands up under it to feel the muscles in Ben’s torso move as he twists around, to push it up to Ben’s armpits. Ben catches it with his fingers and yanks it off the rest of the way, tossing it to the side. His hair falls in a tousle over his shining eyes and flushed face; Poe shoves it out of the way to pull him in for a long, lingering kiss. If Ben minds the way he tastes, it doesn’t show. He opens for Poe easily, lets him in, arms winding around Poe’s shoulders to pull him closer. Poe nudges them back to the table, grips Ben underneath the ass -- Ben’s so tall they barely have to lift anyway, just a little push and then he’s there, arms still tight around Poe’s shoulders, hunched over to keep kissing him. 

Poe lets him stay where he is, kissing back distractedly as he grapples for the lube, opens it, slicks his fingers up. There’s a little awkward fumbling, sticky-slick patches left behind on Ben’s thighs, but Ben gets with the program quickly enough, curving his back to tilt his hips forward, shifting until Poe can slide his fingers home in one good push. Ben gasps, panting against Poe’s lips as he works the lube around, getting everything wet and ready. 

“Oh. Oh God. Oh, God, yes, _please_ , God --”

“Lay back for me,” Poe says, soft, dry hand on Ben’s chest. Ben settles slowly, rolling his way down to the table, clinging hands the last thing to let go, to come to rest. Poe tugs gently at Ben’s hip with his free hand until Ben scoots his ass off the table, into position. Ben wraps his legs around Poe’s back for stability; Poe rests one hand on the table and draws the fingers of the other hand out of Ben, watching him shudder.

“Please,” Ben says, one last time, and Poe says, 

“Always,” and takes himself in hand, pushes in slow, inch by maddening inch, breathing hard through his teeth as Ben’s chest heaves, as his fingers scrabble on the table.

Then he’s in, up on his toes and straining to hold position, but he holds it until Ben says, “Poe,” and Poe says,

“Yes,” and sets in, short sharp thrusts until he finds the right angle, until Ben curls up with a gasp punched out of him and then falls back again, head tossing and thighs tightening around Poe’s ribcage. Then it’s steady, firm but not too hard, deep and deliberately paced and it’s hard to hold back, God it’s hard to hold back, but Ben is arching and flushed and sweaty and making that incredible sound he makes, the one Poe can’t name but craves somewhere deep. Poe pushes himself up higher, rests his hands on Ben’s wrists to pin him down the way he’d promised, fucks him with all the ruthless tenderness he possesses, and watches Ben fall apart underneath him and it’s better than he’d imagined. Imagination tends to fail him, usually. The reality is always so much better.

Ben’s voice cracks high. His legs tighten around Poe so much that it’s hard to breathe. Poe’s thrusts go shorter, sharper, partially for Ben and then partially because he’s close now, winding closer and just needs to be buried there in all that heat and tightness when it breaks him open. He lets his head drop, panting open-mouthed against Ben’s sternum. Ben’s skin feels like it’s shaking, every muscle in his abdomen rippling. He’s sweaty, tastes like salt when Poe lets his tongue drag along Ben’s skin; he smells like sex but then they probably both do. He feels incredible, every inch of him -- Poe grinds in deep, pulls back, does it again and again and then the fourth time is when Ben cracks open, curling up and then snapping backwards, legs pulling Poe in deep before they go limp. He comes so hard it hits Poe’s chin and Poe gasps out a laugh and then can’t stop. He is laughing even as his hips keep pressing in, fucking them both through it; he is laughing even when he comes himself, unreasonably hard and unbelievably long, every muscle in his body straining forward, like his whole nervous system needs to bury itself under Ben’s skin.

If he could. If he could.

He can’t, and limp with effort, collapses onto Ben’s stomach, the tips of his toes just on the floor and his grip on Ben’s wrists now more to hold himself up than to hold Ben down.

He needs to let go. He needs to stand up. He needs, at the very least, to wipe Ben’s come off his face.

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have bones anymore.

“Babe,” Ben grunts, finally. There’s a rough chuckle, and then, “Babe, c’mon,” and Ben’s hands come up under Poe’s armpits and start tugging. “Get up here, come on, get --”

It’s not easy, but between the two of them, they manage to pull Poe up onto the table, his cheek resting on Ben’s chest, the two of them pressed together, sticky and sweaty.

“Guess you did make a mess,” Ben observes, quietly. He strokes through Poe’s hair, holds him close. Funny how sometimes Poe can just _feel_ the happiness radiating through Ben’s skin, out and all the way through him.

“Guess I did.” He wonders, vaguely, if he’ll ever move again. Probably, but it seems unlikely right now. He is so heavy, and Ben feels so good underneath him. “We didn’t break the table.”

“No.” Ben kisses the top of his head. “We didn’t.” A pause, and then, “Give me a couple, and I’ll carry you to bed.”

It’s -- appealing. Poe loves the way Ben folds for him, loves how soft he can be, but he also loves the ridiculous strength in him, the way he does these things so easily. But also. “I gotta brush my teeth,” he says. Because he does. Boy does he.

“Hmmm.” Ben considers it for a moment. “Okay. Give me a couple, and I’ll carry you to the bathroom, and we can brush our teeth and get cleaned up. Did I really come on your face?”

“Damn right you did.” He rubs his cheek against Ben’s chest to make the point, and Ben laughs again, squeezes him closer. Poe lets out a heavy sigh. “God. I love you. I needed that.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Even as sated as Poe is, that hits with a little pang that Ben must be able to feel, because he’s quick to add, “Don’t. Seriously. I didn’t… It was both of us, okay? It wasn’t just you. Things get hectic, and I think that’s just how it is sometimes. We figured it out, we fixed the problem; if it happens again, you know, just… bend me over the nearest table, or whatever, and we’ll be fine. No big deal.”

It sounds remarkably simple. Maybe too simple, but Poe’s not inclined to question it or anything else right now. Ben is strong and warm and sated and glowing underneath him, and most other things are pretty irrelevant. And if it starts to fade and the tension comes back… well, maybe he’ll kneel at Ben’s feet for a change. See how Ben reacts to it.

“I love you,” he says again, and lets his eyes fall closed. “Don’t fall asleep on the table, okay? It’s bad for your back.”

“Eh, I’ve got a towel. I’ll be fine.” Ben laughs, and strokes Poe’s hair, and snuggles him closer. “Anyway, five more minutes and I’m carrying you to the shower, awake or not. Promise I won’t let you drown.” 

“Hmmkay.” He won’t, either. Ben’s good like that. He’s good, and strong, and smart, and Poe’s lucky to have him, and he doesn’t forget that. Other things, he forgets, but not that. “Thanks, babe.”

“Any time,” Ben says, and sounds like he means it, and maybe there really is one thing in the world that’s this simple. Just this. Just them. “Any time.” 


End file.
